The Misconceptions of a “Battered Woman.”

It took me many years to come to terms with the fact that I was one of those so-called “Battered Women.” Almost twenty years to be exact. And I still have but only scratched the surface.
When I think of all the tragedies and the staggering statistics I positively cringe. This is one of the reasons that I decided to share my story. If I could reach just one woman, it would totally be worth any shame I may have felt at that moment. It is a tough subject to broach with anyone. In many cases people seem to think that if they don’t talk about it that it will just go away. Well, it doesn’t go away. Even when it seems to fade off into the distance, when you think that you may have finally gained some kind of control you can find yourself stuck in a downward spiral going at about a hundred plus miles an hour. I have been there. I have seen it.
The argument had been silly, they usually were. One minute he had me by the hair my cheek pressed up against the back cushion of the couch and in the next moment he had actually flung me from the couch to the loveseat. I had been airborne. I bounced off the loveseat and hit the hardwood floor where I lay just trying to catch my breath. My head was spinning as I could not believe what had just happened. How could one explain what had just happened if they were asked? I think I was dumbfounded. More than that, I was ashamed.
I couldn’t for the life of me remember how I got from here to there. This is the only way that I can put it simply. For me Domestic Violence was a gradual thing. It didn’t happen overnight. It started with a push. The next time it was a shove. Then a slap. He liked to break things around me. I think he used that as a form of intimidation. The last and final time that I left I had returned to all of my clothes being slashed and torn. Every article of clothing I had owned had been cut in some form. Some of which were found hanging in tatters in my closet. Panties cut by the crotch. Bras cut in half. I literally had only the clothes on my back. But I had my life. That is what I told myself.
What makes a person snap? How can a man who claims in one breath that he loves you beyond measure almost literally try to choke the life out of you? There were many nights when I would lie awake and think what the hell am I doing here? What am I doing? Oh, that’s right I am married to this monster, I have his children, and damnit I don’t have anywhere to go. I was ashamed. I knew there were places to go. I had been in one of those shelters before. No, it wasn’t pretty, but neither was this. My life was spiraling out of control and once I landed I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.
The day I left was like any other day. I hadn’t planned on leaving that day but God’s plan had been greater than my own. I remember the fight that had began over a simple misunderstanding, which was not unusual. When he issued his final threat I knew he intended to make sure it happened. He’d been as calm as a cucumber when he threatened to burn down our home with me in it. Just the way he had phrased it was enough to turn my blood ice cold. That must have been the moment that I had come to realize that leaving was no longer an option. I no longer had a choice. It was simple. I either left this man or he was going to kill me.
Part of the problem is the psychological part. I always seemed to “get over” the beatings but I couldn’t get past the psychological. For the life of me I couldn’t understand how a person who claimed to love me would want to harm me in any way. Eventually the bruises went away, they would fade over time, but the psychological issues were great. I just wanted to live a normal life. I didn’t want to have to worry about when the next beating was coming or what was going to spark his temper at any given moment. I didn’t want to walk on egg shells anymore. I didn’t want to live this way and I didn’t want my children living in a hostile environment all the time.
When I say it wasn’t easy leaving I mean that. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. But there were no more choices. In order to stay alive I needed to leave. The threats didn’t magically disappear overnight. There were plenty of nights when I slept with a baseball bat by my side. That was when I decided to put my faith and my trust in God. He did not bring me this far to abandon me. I knew that in my heart. I also knew that He had heard my prayers.
Slowly but surely I began to emerge a new person. I began to make friends in my neighborhood and for the first time in a long time I didn’t have to have a lengthy explanation regarding the people I talked to and why. It was a whole new feeling. I was finally on my way to living a normal life. The kids were settling in and making friends as well. It had been an adjustment for all.
Everything didn’t come together immediately. It took time. I still had to be on my guard since my ex moved in with his parents who lived only a couple of blocks from my apartment. There were days when he would drive by close to ten times a day. The reason I had known this was because he drove a truck and he would rev the motor to make sure he had made his presence known. For the first couple of months I did not venture far from home. I was careful. After all the last time that he had attacked me I had been with my mother and sister and I thought he was going to throw me through a store front window. The police had been called but he was as slippery as an eel and had gotten away and there had been a warrant issued. It had been a scary experience for all involved. In the scuffle my mother had put herself between the both of us, something any mother would do sensing her child was in danger, and she had received a blow to the cheek.
There are many things that no one will ever know. Some of which I cannot believe had happened. Things that I have finally come to realize that I had no control over. However degrading they were it took me a long time to come to grips with the fact that I hadn’t been at fault. There had been a time when I thought that it had to be my fault. I believed that I must have really known how to push his buttons. The arguments were usually over inconsequential things, why couldn’t I just back down my position and let him blow off steam? There were times that I did back down and there were times that we went toe to toe, beating or not. The problem was that he was looking for a fight and it wouldn’t have mattered either way. I was his punching bag when he needed an outlet or emotional release. He refused counseling, said he didn’t need help. That I was the one who just didn’t know how to keep my mouth shut. For years I had believed this. But no matter what I did, it was never right. In the end there was no winning. In fact, I would have eventually lost my life had I stayed.
There are a great many people who cannot grasp this concept. Domestic Violence is a vicious circle. Almost like an endless merry-go-round which goes faster and faster until you are caught up within its cycle.
It must have taken me a couple of months to venture up the nerve to stay out past dark if I was alone. And when I did I carried objects that could have been considered weapons. I especially favored a hat pin with a pearl on the end. My grandmother had given it to me and I had worn it pinned where no one could see it. Many times, day or night I actually hibernated within my apartment afraid to come out. Afraid I was being followed. Afraid he was going to come through on his threats. Afraid that my children would grow up without a mother. The fear was an endless factor in my life at that time.
And then slowly but surely the rock was slowly lifting off of my chest and I could breathe again. There were subtle changes. I had my hair cut and styled the way that I wanted it styled. I made it a point to get out of the apartment when the children went on visitations with their father. I even started to date again, discreetly. At that time I was only looking for companionship. A nice dinner out and maybe a walk in the park. Nothing extravagant. I met a few nice guys, and I also met quite a few jerks. I was learning how to weed out the losers. I knew that I had no intentions of getting serious with anyone. I knew where my priorities were. I connected with some old friends I had gone to high school with and I started wearing more stylish clothes. I looked years younger.
My anxiety was still there but it was marginally less than it had been before. I went to a therapist who told me that I was not paranoid. And he had explained paranoia to me and said I was far from it. That too, had lessened my anxiety as well. We were on our way to living a normal life. We had some bumps along the way, nothing is ever picture perfect.
Two years later I met a wonderful man on a blind date and never in my life could imagine that I would ever marry again. Together we raised my three children, and it wasn’t always peaches and cream I can attest to that. But all in all I think we did a pretty good job with what we had. Slowly I was coming out of my shell and regaining my self esteem which had been completely shot. But never once did I forget where I came from. I sometimes can’t believe how far I have come. Somewhere along the line I became a survivor of Domestic Violence. It hadn’t been immediate. It is still difficult to articulate but I really believe that the day I sat down and wrote my first story, Living in the Midst of Domestic Violence, was the day I finally became free from all of it. To think, it had taken me almost 20 years to be able to publicly admit that I had been a victim. The chains fell off and I became a victor. Looking back at that part of my life I sometimes don’t know how I got through it but like everything in our lives, experiences such as these only make you stronger. And I know, without the shadow of a doubt, that I am not only stronger but I am truly a survivor of Domestic Violence.